


The Scribe's Tale

by hkafterdark



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Relationships, M/M, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hkafterdark/pseuds/hkafterdark
Summary: “So, so, so,” Eugenides said to Kamet. “Tell me about Roa and your escape.”
Relationships: Kamet/Costis Ormentiedes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 64
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Scribe's Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wildehack (tyleet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyleet/gifts).



> Hello wildehack! I hope you have finished _Return of the Thief_ by now, otherwise this fic will be, uh, major spoilers. I had a lot of thoughts about the Costis and Kamet storyline and wanted to write a little epilogue that covered what they were up to and also feature some meddling from Gen. I hope you enjoy! Merry Yule!
> 
> Thank you to S for letting me bounce ideas off you and doing a read-over, and thank you to O for betaing!

The man who was called Kamet e dai Annux woke without knowing why. Over the years, he had learned to trust his instincts, so he sat and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his chambers until he could distinguish the darker shadows where the intruder stood. Outside, the clouds parted. Faint moonlight fell upon a brown cheek, marred by a faint, feather-shaped scar. Kamet relaxed.

“My king,” he said, voice thick with sleep, “the war is over. Surely this can wait until morning.”

The king of Attolia moved into the light. He looked tired, as new fathers often did. “I have to get my entertainment when I can,” he said. “My days have only gotten longer since the Mede retreated.”

“Yes,” Kamet said, “that is the curse of fatherhood, or so I’m told.”

The king smiled. “A curse I would gladly bear again.” He came to sit at the edge of Kamet’s bed, perching so lightly the mattress hardly dipped from his weight. “Are your accommodations to your satisfaction?”

Seeing the king intended to stay a while, Kamet pushed himself upright and slid the knife beneath his pillow back into its hiding place. “They are more than generous, my king.”

“And yet Costis has chosen to return to the guard quarters.”

“He said he is comfortable there,” Kamet said, puzzled by the direction of the conversation. “I offered to let him have these rooms in my stead, but he refused.”

“And where would you have slept if he hadn’t?”

“Perhaps the servants’ quarters,” Kamet said. “The kitchen staff still looks on me fondly.”

The king stared at him. Kamet bore his scrutiny a while before sighing. “What is it, my king?”

“You are not a servant,” the king said. “You are an honored and trusted friend of the king.” He paused, then added, “And so is Costis.”

“I know, my king,” Kamet said, now entirely lost. “But we are still bound to who we once were. Sometimes there is comfort in that. Are you not still the Thief?”

“Am I?” asked the Thief of Eddis, king of Attolia, Annux of the Little Peninsula. “I think that title belongs to Eugenia now.”

“Your daughter is three months old,” Kamet said, starting to laugh. “What can she possibly steal?”

“She has stolen Hector’s blanket several times already,” the king said. “She stole the ring from my finger and would have swallowed it if the nurse had not caught her.”

Kamet looked at the heavy seal ring on the king’s finger. Costis had once told him that he did not know how the king removed his ring when he was alone. It was difficult to take off, even with two hands.

“He would have had to use his teeth,” Costis had said, and he shuddered. They had been speaking of the king’s ultimatum to the barons, back when the Mede invasion had still been considered a wild fancy of the king’s and nothing more. “Is that adequately barbaric for you?”

Kamet, who still often thought of the king as the careless youth in Attolia’s kitchen, knew it was not so much an act of barbarism as one of desperation. But he also knew Costis was attempting to distract him from the danger of their situation, and so in response he had shuddered delicately and said, “So, so, so,” in an exaggeration of Costis’s accent. “I always said you were a country of barbarians.”

“I see,” Kamet said in the face of the king’s blatant lie. “Yes, you are correct. The princess is undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with.”

The king smiled. “You see? Hector will have his hands full managing her.”

They sat for a while in silence before Kamet finally said, “My king, you did not come here to discuss your children.”

“No,” the king agreed, “I did not.”

“Then what did you come here for?”

“You have not yet made your report,” the king said. “Costis has given his to Teleus, for what good that is—he is not a natural storyteller, our Costis.” Kamet smiled at that. “Come to my chambers tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, my king,” Kamet said.

The king rose and stepped back into the shadows. Kamet waited, but he did not hear the sound of the hidden door. He got up once he was sure the king was gone and traced his fingers along the wall where the king had disappeared. He felt no catch, no seam on the wall. Torn between amusement and unease, Kamet returned to bed and considered the strange, mercurial man his old friend had become.

The queen of Attolia sat awake in the bed she shared with her husband and listened carefully. There was a soft click when the hidden door closed, a small piece of theatre he did out of consideration for her. She knew very well that if her husband did not wish to be heard, only the gods could betray his presence.

“Was he alone?” the queen asked when the king reached the bed.

The king sat to remove the soft-soled boots he wore during his evening wanderings, which fastened with buttons to accommodate his one hand. “He was.”

“And if not? What would you have done?”

“Turned around and left, I suppose,” the king said. “But I knew he would be.”

“Ah,” the queen said.

The king considered his wife, who was sitting up against the pillows with her long dark hair spilling about her shoulders. Though several years had passed, he had not yet grown used to the sight of her like this: human, and his. “You will not ask me how I knew.”

“I think you wish me to ask,” the queen said calmly. Though she did not smile, he could detect amusement in her voice. Dropping his boots to the floor, he turned fully to crawl toward her. She watched him impassively, only arching an eyebrow when he draped himself across her lap.

“Oh, Irene,” he said with a heavy sigh, “how you torment me. You know I hardly get any amusement these days.”

“My poor king,” the queen said mockingly. She stroked her fingers through his thick curls. “Very well. How did you know?”

“I saw the look on Costis’s face when he watched Kamet go,” the king said. “I recognized it, you see. Or the feeling behind it, anyway.” He tilted his head and smiled up at his wife, looking for a moment more like the Thief of Eddis than the King of Kings. “It was the look of a man who is sure his love will never be returned.”

“How fortunate for you that you were wrong,” the queen said. She dipped her head to kiss him; the king met her halfway.

“What will you do now?” she asked when they parted. He traced a finger along her faintly flushed cheek, a look of mischief crossing his face. A trace of foreboding rose in her chest. “Eugenides.”

“Yes?” he asked innocently.

“What if he does not love Costis in return?”

“He does,” the king said. “Of that I’m sure.”

“So, so, so. Have your gods given you the gift of reading hearts as well? If Kamet does not love him, you cannot force him to,” she warned. “You might bend nations to your whim, but the human heart is more difficult to predict.”

“I know,” the king said. “I won yours without even realizing it.” He touched her cheek lightly. “Kamet is much like you. He hides his tenderest feelings, so much so that I worry even he is not aware of them. I have no intention of persuading him to go against his own desires, only to coax him to recognize them.”

The queen knew her husband was closer to Kamet than she perhaps understood; and she recalled too how he had known when the queen of Eddis loved Sounis without realizing. Perhaps the gods had given him the gift of reading hearts after all. She stroked his hair, now quite long, behind his ear. “You are sure?”

“I am,” the king said.

“Then do as you will,” she said. Then, smiling, she added, “But do not overreach.”

“Ha,” the king said without moving. “No one ever believes me when I tell them you’re funny.”

“Come to bed,” she said. “You can resume your scheming when it is light outside.”

Kamet ate breakfast with the guards, as he had most mornings since they had returned to the capitol. He was the only person not in the guard who ate there. His friendship with Costis had won him a great deal of good will. Before Roa, Kamet would have been inclined to eat alone in his rooms or perhaps in the gardens, but since his return to Attolia he felt in desperate need of fresh companionship.

He watched some of the guards’ morning training and allowed himself to be persuaded into a few sword drills with Costis’s friend Aris before making his excuses and escaping to the library, where he remained until lunch. The king had not given him a precise hour for their meeting, so Kamet sought out Pheris to learn when he should attend upon him.

He was inordinately pleased with how Pheris had grown since they first met. He knew he had very little to do with Pheris’s progress aside from urging Relius to take more notice of him, yet to see the boy now, with his talents recognized and appreciated by those close to him, filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction. He had been taking time to learn some of Pheris’s hand signs, and he used them now to greet him.

Pheris smiled when he saw Kamet and wrote on his slate, _You have not shaved your beard_.

Kamet rubbed his hand over his chin and smiled. “You do not like it.”

Pheris shook his head emphatically.

“Perhaps it does need a trim,” Kamet allowed. “But I’ve never been permitted a beard before, and I confess I’m enjoying the novelty.”

Pheris considered this. In many ways, despite the vast differences in their circumstances and upbringing, he and Kamet had lived similarly confined lives before meeting the king. Kamet thought Pheris would understand the appeal of embracing a previously unreachable luxury.

It seemed he was right, because Pheris did not pursue the topic further. Instead he asked Kamet to look at the text he was reading, and they both became engrossed in debating the finer points of translation until Kamet recalled why he had come looking for him in the first place. Pheris, looking slightly alarmed, rose to his feet and gestured for Kamet to follow him.

When they arrived at the king’s chambers and were allowed past the attendants, Eugenides was sitting with his feet propped on his desk and his chair tipped precariously backward. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of them and said, “I’ve been waiting _forever_.” He sounded gleeful.

“Perhaps being made to wait is good for you,” Kamet suggested. He took the seat across from Eugenides while Pheris settled on a little stool behind the king. “You failed to specify a time for our discussion.”

“Shouldn’t you be more deferential to your king?” Eugenides asked loftily.

“Is that what you want?”

They stared at each other, both repressing smiles. Eugenides swung his feet off the desk—the chair beneath him rocked yet somehow did not fall—and leaned forward to rest his arms on the desk. His hook gleamed. “So, so, so,” Eugenides said. “Tell me about Roa and your escape.”

So Kamet did.

* * *

If I am to be entirely honest, I must admit that there were times in Roa when I forgot our purpose there. It is a beautiful place, and very peaceful as well. I have always liked the sea—not sailing, but being near it.

Costis and I settled in quite comfortably. I spent my days at the temple or at our little cottage, working on translations, and Costis tramped about the woods and hunted and made friends with all the townsfolk. We were something of a curiosity to them, as mismatched as we are, and if it weren’t for his way with people, I think we might have remained somewhat isolated. As it was, Costis had half a dozen close companions within a fortnight, and at least one man asked if Costis was looking to marry, for he had a daughter around his age.

Costis related this to me when he came home that night with two rabbits and a basket of bread and vegetables he had traded for. He seemed to think it very strange and looked at me askance when I scoffed.

“A great big man like you?” I said. “Of course he wants you for a son-in-law. I imagine he has a plot of land that could use the extra hands. You’re handsome enough, I suppose, and amiable too, so in all he could do much worse for his daughter.”

“Ah,” Costis said. “Do you think I should have told him yes?”

He was laughing at me, but I didn’t much mind. I doubted there was much danger of Costis forgetting his duty to Attolia in favor of courting. “I don’t know,” I said. “Is she very pretty?”

“I’ve only seen her once,” Costis said. “She’s pretty enough, but I admit that I am spoiled. I have seen others who are far prettier to my eye.”

When Costis was not scouting the woods or making friends, he was undertaking new projects for our little house. First it was the doors, which he said were not thick enough for winter, then it was the garden, and then the hutch where we kept the chicken we had bought in town. He also took it upon himself to teach me to swim, which I submitted to with an admittedly poor attitude.

I got the sense that he was restless. Roa was a dream for me; I had endless new scrolls to read, and fellow scholars to debate over points of translation, but Costis was accustomed to structured days and clear goals. Without them, he constantly sought new ways to occupy his time, and the longer we went without news to report, the more his restlessness began to infect me.

In a way, it was almost a relief when we learned the Mede had arrived. At the same time, I was more frightened by them than I expected; despite myself, I had begun to think that perhaps you would succeed against them. Yes, you laugh now, but until they retreated, I think part of me was prepared for them to sweep over these shores and take me back for execution.

I'd buried most of that fear during our quiet months in Roa. You see, I believed in you, my king. Perhaps more precisely, I believed in the boy I met in the kitchens at Attolia who grew up to steal me away from my home. And Costis believed in you. In his eyes, you could do anything, and that belief was contagious.

And yet when I first heard talk of a large company of foreign soldiers buying up horses and carts and produce, the fear that had driven me to accept Costis’s assistance so long ago returned. I tried to hide it when I relayed the news, but I must not have done a very good job, because Costis put his hand over mine.

“Come to Attolia with me,” he said.

I shook my head. “I would only slow you down,” I said. “The king must know as soon as possible. And—it would not cause too much comment if you were gone for some time. It would be easy enough to make an excuse for your absence. But if both of us disappeared suddenly, and word of that was to spread to the wrong people—”

He took my meaning. The Mede had to believe that their arrival was secret. “I could send someone else. Give an encoded message, perhaps.”

But I was shaking my head again before he could finish. “No, it has to be you. You know it does.”

Costis argued a little, but in the end I was right and we both knew it. So I put it about town that Costis was off to visit his pregnant sister and solicited people for contributions for his journey. There were jokes about him abandoning me, which I dismissed with laughter, but otherwise no one thought anything of it. I saw Costis off early in the morning, laden down with supplies for his ride, and stood for some time in the yard before I went up to the temple for my day’s work.

I made a big fuss over feeling unsafe alone in the house so that the priests would offer to let me stay in the temple until Costis returned. To my surprise, a few townsfolk offered their homes to me as well, for Costis’s sake, but I said I preferred to be near my work and thereafter rarely left the temple complex. Though I was not the only foreigner living in our little town, I was identifiable enough that I felt it was safer to remain out of sight.

I’ll admit my work suffered while I waited for news. All I got were bits and pieces, scraps of information that had been passed through many tellers until it made its way to me in my temple workroom. I kept notes in a code of my own devising to track where soldiers had been seen and when; what kind of supplies they had purchased; what news there was of Attolia.

I was sure Costis wouldn’t return. Not that I doubted him in any way—I knew he would certainly _want_ to, but I did not think you would permit him. So I began making plans, in my own quiet way, to leave before the Mede found me.

But you surprised me once again, my king, and Costis did return.

I was working on a scroll when I heard the commotion. At first I panicked, thinking I had miscalculated the days it would take for soldiers to reach our outpost. I had always planned to be gone well before I was found. But as I was frantically rummaging through my things to find the little pack I’d made of essentials, I heard Costis’s voice out in the hall, calling my name.

I flew out to him, not trusting my poor eyesight until I was nearly on top of him. He seized me by the shoulders, glancing me over with a wild look in his eyes. Costis at times really does fit the barbarian image I had of Attolians for so long. I realized after a moment that he was saying my name, now sounding worried rather than frantic.

“I’m fine,” I told him. “It’s all right, I’m fine.”

“The house—it was empty,” Costis said. “I didn’t know what had happened, but people said you were at the temple—”

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” I said, “so it seemed safer to be here than alone in the cottage.”

Costis gave me a look like he thought I was very stupid. “Of course I came back,” he said.

“The king might have forbidden it,” I said. “He should have. Why did you come back, you idiot?” I smacked him in the chest, even as I warmed with pleasure at how he clearly considered his return a foregone conclusion. “You were surely in more danger.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you,” Costis said. “Orutus did suggest—and Relius too—that I should not come. But I would have, no matter what they said.”

“You would have betrayed your king?”

“I would have before,” he said, and I remembered that, when I was sure that you would kill me for having lied about Nahuseresh, not knowing of course that _you_ were the one who had been lying to _me_ , he had said that if I'd just told him my master was dead, he would have let me go. He would have let me escape, even though the man he would walk into fire for would surely punish him for it. And he would have lied to you, too. He would have told you that Nahuseresh lived, and he would have helped me escape before you discovered the truth.

I don’t know what I did to deserve such loyalty, my king. I am a selfish creature by nature; I’ve had to be to survive. I am not kind, and I am proud and very often stubborn. I have lied to Costis, would have betrayed him or left him to his death if it would have saved me. I nearly did leave him to die. It was only by divine intervention that I did not. And despite all this, I know he would die for me. As I would for him.

I don’t remember what I said after that, only that Costis was adamant that we leave town as quickly as possible. The Mede were growing closer, and it was not safe for us to remain. Neither could we return to Attolia. I imagined us stowing away aboard a merchant ship when Costis told me about the little shepherd’s hut he had found abandoned in the hills.

“I have prepared it for this,” he said. “It is remote and isolated, and in unhospitable terrain. I've done what I can to disguise it further so no wandering scouts are tempted to take shelter, but there is also a hiding place inside. Come, let me show you.”

So we gathered up what things we could. Before, I might have been worried at drawing attention, but with the approaching army, everyone was distracted. People had been streaming out of town to head further inland, or to the impromptu markets set up along the roads to supply the soldiers. Two more travelers, even ones who had been relative novelties until recently, were hardly worth noticing.

I did tell you, my king, that it was awful. Well, it was. Even our long journey to Attolia wasn’t as arduous, because at least we were going somewhere. We spent months in that tiny hut with very little to do save stare at each other, and frankly we had done enough of that before. I did manage to improve Costis’s Mede, though it was slow going without a slate or paper, and he still doesn’t quite have the accent down.

The rest you know. We waited out the war, keeping an eye on the sea, and when we saw the Mede retreating, we set out hoping to find you. And fortunately, we did, otherwise we would have had to contrive a way to return to Attolia, and by that point I wasn’t prepared to make any plans that didn’t involve hot food and a bed.

* * *

“Was there anything else you wished to know?” Kamet asked when he had finished.

Eugenides blinked and looked behind him toward Pheris, who had been taking notes the entire time. “If my little scribe has it all?” Pheris nodded. “Then I suppose—it seems you and Costis have made amends.”

“Made amends?”

“From your story, it sounds as though you were entirely sick of him by the end.”

“Oh, to be sure,” Kamet said. “But the same would have been true of anyone. He was sick of me, too. We agreed it would be best to spend some time apart, but we are still friends. I have been taking breakfast with him most mornings.”

“I see,” Eugenides said. He shifted in his seat and narrowed his eyes, but Kamet’s expression failed to reveal anything. Annoyed, he sat back and said, “Thank you. That will be all.”

When Kamet had left, Eugenides turned to Pheris. “What do you think?”

Pheris gave the king a look. Eugenides laughed. “Relius did say you don’t care much for romance.”

Pheris signed, _I don’t. But Kamet is my friend_. _I want him to be happy_.

“Should I interfere, then?”

Kamet shrugged. _You are king. You can do as you like._

“Don’t give me that,” Eugenides said. “I am not king of my friends’ hearts.”

Pheris laughed at that. He looked down at the notes he had taken, reading them over. When he had finished reviewing them, he met the king’s eyes. _Leave them be for now._

“Very well,” Eugenides said. “I will trust in your judgment. I have learned well by now that I ought to respect it.”

Late that night, after the court had retired for supper, Kamet was roused from his bed by a knock at the door. When he opened it, Costis was standing on the other side of the door. He was not wearing his armor. Though Kamet had spent months with Costis where he wore no armor, something about seeing him in the palace without it was unsettling. Kamet crossed his arms and waited for him to speak.

Costis shifted uncomfortably. “I am sorry to come without warning. It’s only—I heard you spoke with the king today. Is everything all right?”

“He wished to hear my recounting of our time in Roa,” Kamet said. “Or so he claimed.”

Costis raised his eyebrows. “You don’t believe him?”

“I think,” Kamet said, “his true interest is in the state of our relationship, such as it is.”

Costis had the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Kamet said. “He did seem to be hinting around it. But don’t concern yourself; I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Kamet—oh, can I just come in?” Costis burst out. “I feel like an absolute idiot standing out here like this.”

“I thought you slept better in the guards’ quarters,” Kamet said coolly.

“I was wrong,” Costis said. “Kamet, I was so wrong.”

Kamet eyed him with some lingering resentment. “Very well,” he said, knowing he was only giving Costis a hard time because of his own bruised pride. He opened the door and let Costis pass.

Once inside, Costis stood at attention, jaw set. “Costis,” Kamet said, “do stop looking like a plank of wood.”

Costis’s shoulders slumped and he gave Kamet a look full of dejection. “Kamet,” he said, “I’ve been a complete fool.”

“Yes,” Kamet said, drawing close to him. “On that we are agreed.”

“I am not good with words,” Costis said, watching Kamet warily, “and somehow with you I always seem to find the wrong thing to say.”

“Please continue,” Kamet said. “I enjoy your self-flagellation.”

Costis barked out a laugh. “I have been doing quite a lot of it since our return.” He reached out as if to brush Kamet’s cheek and stopped abruptly. “Kamet, I have missed you terribly.”

Kamet closed his eyes and said, bitterly, “Perhaps that is only because we spent so much time together in Roa.”

“I was wrong, Kamet. How many times must I say it?” Kamet opened his eyes to see Costis fall to his knees. “Please forgive me.”

Kamet sighed. He settled his hand along Costis's jawline. “Why did you say it?”

“I was afraid,” Costis whispered. “I feared—I feared that without the danger and the close quarters, you might no longer feel as you did. That you might feel compelled to pretend for my sake.”

“You did not trust me to be honest with you?”

“No!” Costis shook his head. “No, that isn’t it.”

“Then did you not trust me to know my own heart?”

“No,” Costis said again. “I only—I wanted us both to be sure.”

“You idiot,” Kamet said. “I’ve been sure for far longer than Roa.”

Costis looked up, eyes wide. “You have?”

“I don’t know quite when it started,” Kamet said, “but I knew by the time we reached Attolia that I loved you.”

Costis stared at him without speaking. Kamet relented and cupped his cheek. “Oh, Costis,” he said. “Poor, poor Costis. You were trying to protect me still.”

“And myself,” Costis said. “I do not think I could bear it if one day you woke and realized you had made a mistake.”

“I let you make love to me on the floor of a shepherd’s hut,” Kamet said dryly. “I am not so deprived that anything other than love would compel me to do _that_.”

Costis burst into startled laughter. He turned his face into Kamet’s hand. “I am so sorry, Kamet. I should not have said what I did. I know you better than that. I was only afraid.”

“And how do you think I felt when you said we should sleep apart?” Kamet asked softly. “After all we have been through?” He shook his head. “You are lucky I love you, and that I understand why you did it. Get up already.”

Costis staggered upright. “You are not angry with me?”

“I will be angry with you for a little while longer,” Kamet said. “I have been sleeping alone for too long to _not_ be angry.” He took Costis by the hand. “But for now, I would rather go to bed.”

“Oh,” Costis said, and then, “oh,” when Kamet drew him close. Speech, for the time being, left them.

The king of Attolia sat in his chambers and brooded. His wife, having long since gone to bed, had warned him not to wake her if he went on another of his excursions. The candle on his desk was only a stub now, and he could barely make out Pheris’s writing. After a lifetime of evasions, he knew very well how to tell when someone else was leaving out information.

Every instinct in him said to find out more. He was accustomed to knowing nearly everything about the people around him; it was how he had survived this long. But Costis and Kamet were friends, and he had made an effort in recent days to accommodate more privacy to his friends.

When the king did go to bed, he slept lightly and woke early. He crept from his rooms, past the dozing attendants, and out into the corridor, intending to head up to the walls and breathe in the early morning air. Much to his annoyance, two of his attendants roused enough to accompany him, and he submitted to their companionship with ill-concealed impatience.

The rooms he had given Kamet, and intended for Costis as well, were well-appointed, near the royal chambers without being so close as to be awkward. The king, who had come to the conclusion that perhaps he was mistaken about his two friends, was paying more attention to the thread coming loose at the cuff of his robe, and did not at first see Costis emerging from the door that belonged to Kamet. It was Hilarion’s small inhale that alerted him, and he looked up to see Costis frozen like a rabbit caught by a hunter.

They stood there, the king and his guard, each waiting for the other to speak. The king recognized Costis’s clothing as what he had worn the day before, now wrinkled and smudged. There was a faint mark just under the collar of his tunic.

“Good morning, Costis,” the king said at last.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Costis said.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Tolerably so,” Costis said. Then he shook his head and gave the king a sheepish smile. “Better than I have in some time, if I’m honest, Your Majesty.”

“Hm,” the king said. “I think I understand.” He just managed to keep his voice steady. “I will speak with you later, then.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Costis said fervently. He bowed, then turned on his heel and fled.

The king waited until he was out of earshot to break down into laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubled over. He laughed for so long that Kamet poked his head out and irritably demanded to know what was going on and, upon seeing the king, sighed and said, “I see you are in good spirits today, Your Majesty.”

“I am,” the king said. “Should I expect Costis to be relocating his quarters, then?”

“Once he speaks to Teleus,” Kamet said. “I expect you’re very pleased with yourself.”

“Extremely,” the king said. “I did send him to you, after all.”

Kamet regarded his king, chosen of the gods and bane of the Mede Empire, and said, “If you try to tell me you predicted this all along, I will knock you down as Costis once did.”

The king’s attendants looked horrified at this pronouncement, but the king burst into fresh peals of laughter. He reached out to clap Kamet on the shoulder. “Go back to sleep, Kamet. Many blessings to you.”

“Thank you, my king,” Kamet said. He withdrew into his room and shut the door with a firm click.

The king of Attolia stood in the corridor for a moment longer, smiling to himself. Then he turned to his attendants and said, “I think I shall go back to bed as well.” Whistling, he made his way back to his chambers, his put-upon attendants trailing in his wake.

The queen stirred when he settled beside her. “Is everything well?”

“It is indeed, my dear,” he said. He kissed her cheek. “All is as it should be.” And, well-satisfied, he returned to sleep.


End file.
